Pretty Little Shell
by HeartShapedFox
Summary: Harry's 6th year at Hogwarts: Draco's mad in love, Harry feels abandoned and powerless, Hermione and Ron are finally together, and Ginny feels lost, used and confused. Update! Chapter 5 uploaded.
1. Sick Summer Days

Pretty Little Shell  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, and all of the original characters in the books belong to J.K. Rowling. This fanfiction, all of the events, and the created characters all belong to me. Yeah. Don't steal [like you would want to]. I'm open to constructive critism but not flames. All flames will be laughed at.  
  
Author's Note: When I started reading the Harry Potter books, I found Harry Potter to be an extremely dull character. All he really seemed to do was save people. However, when I read the 5th book, it gave me a lot more insight to Harry, and now I quite like him. So I've decided to write a fanfiction about his sixth year at Hogwarts. Yeah.   
  
Chapter One:   
  
It seemed funny to Harry that a year ago, when he was 15, he was going to all sorts of great lengths to hear the news, such as hiding in flower bushes, to reassure himself Sirius, his beloved godfather, was still free from the Ministry of Magic's grasps.   
  
Nowadays, however, Harry hated the news. He loathed it. Now that Sirius was dead, there was report after report about his godfather being killed by a policeman. Harry knew this wasn't true, that the ministry had made this up specifically for the muggle news, but still...it still drove the idea back into him: Sirius Black, quite possibly his favorite person in the world, was dead.   
  
Dead. Gone. Harry would miss him. Every inch of him. His long, dark hair. His mischevious, twinking eyes. His laugh, which to Harry sounded remarkably like a dog barking. The way he'd unhesitantly prodded his wand into the chest of the man whom he'd always tormented as children - Severus Snape. Yes, Harry had decided, that had always been the shadowed side of Black, he had tormented a kid for no reason as a youth. But we all have dark sides, don't we?   
  
Harry sighed. He was sitting in Arabella Figg's tea parlor, alone. Mrs. Figg, a squib, had invited him to tea that day, out of something which was so obviously pity. It reeked of cabbage as usual, and every once in a while a random cat would walk by, meowing loudly.   
  
"Harry!" Mrs. Figg chimed loudly, arriving finally with a tea pot in her left hand and a plate of tea sandwiches on her right. She the plate of sandwiches down on the table and plunked the tea pot down after.  
  
"Hello," Harry replied quietly. Mrs. Figg snatched his cup and immediately flooded it with warm tea.  
  
"How are you?!" Mrs. Figg exclaimed, her voice ringing irratatingly in Harry's delicate ears. It sounded like 10 long fingernails taking a lengthy trip down a blackboard. She took a large gulp of her tea. Harry glared down at his own full cup, and though his mouth was rather dry, he couldn't seem to take a sip of it.  
  
"I'm fine," Harry mumbled.   
  
"Harry...I heard about Sirius," she began. Her gnarled, veiny hands sat twisted together like horrible, mishapen snakes in her lap.   
  
'Well, I suppose you have,' Harry thought a little angrily. Who HADN'T, what with these FUCKING muggles blasting their shit on the television all the time!   
  
"He was a great man, the sort of man, who well, you know, wouldn't be content to sitting inside all day..." continued Mrs. Figg. Harry had heard it all before...time and time again. But it didn't change the fact that he was dead, right? Gone and dead. Dead behind that foul curtain, laying there, with only Heaven knows who else. Harry shuddered to think about it.   
  
"You hardly knew him!" Harry snarled, and it was all he could do to keep his fist formed around the steaming mug of tea. "YOU HARDLY KNEW HIM AT ALL!"   
  
Drinking wine. Such an easy, basic task. One would think it remarkably easy for the most skilled, strongest, and most certainly the most lethal wizard in the world, drinking wine. But no. Not tonight. Voldemort's long, milky hands were trembling so hard he wasn't even able to bring the wine to his lips without spilling it all over his blood red robes.  
  
Yes. Blood red. One would think that, Voldemort, being as so dismal as he is, would have preferred black. Most villians do, you see. Voldemort usually did. Black represented death. But crimson, of course, represented pain and bloodshed. And pain and blood were SO much more fun than death, weren't they? Voldemort liked to drape himself in such detrimental things as these.  
  
"I go through all the trouble of getting you out of Azkaban...I should have left you to starve..." Voldemort stated. His hands had begun trembling madly again.  
  
"My Lord, I-I'm sorry," another man proclaimed quickly. A voice once known as eloquent, powerful, and quite silver-tounged was now shaky, shrill and a bit insane sounding. Lucius Malfoy clutched his blonde head, which was now streaked scarlet with dried blood, his face facing the hard wooden floor.   
  
"You have no news for me?! At all?! I should have left you to starve, to rot, to become a shrivled bit of nothing!" Lord Voldemort got to his feet instantly, knocking his half-empty glass of wine to the floor, the burgundy liquid splattering about the ground.   
  
Voldemort snatched Lucius roughly by his silver-blonde head, bringing his face alarmingly close to his own, distorted one. Pale gray eyes met his own livid red ones.   
  
"Lick it up."  
  
Lucius hastily obeyed, obviously scared for his life, and Voldemort stalked over towards the window, which was shut tightly, hearing nothing but the noises of his servant lapping up the wine he had spilled.  
  
Oh, if Draco could see his strong, powerful, Death-Eater father now.   
  
Harry awoke, breathing in the same familiar cabbage scent. Damn, it had happened again. Well, not that Harry had expected it to stop. He groaned and fell back upon the hard wood floor.   
  
"Oh, Harry!!" Mrs. Figg cried, grabbing his wrist and pulling him in to the sitting position, "Are you okay?!"  
  
"Fine," Harry groaned in response. He rubbed the back of his head. "I should go now." Harry slowly, but purposefully stood up.   
  
"Oh, Harry, don't leave just yet! You didn't get to try my sandwiches!" Mrs. Figg cluthced his arm, staring sadly up at him, rather scaring Harry than compelling him to stay longer.  
  
"The Dursleys will be expecting me to help them with, er, dinner," Harry lied. He became painfully aware that it was only 3 in the afternoon. Mrs. Figg looked crestfallen, and Harry pretended not to notice.  
  
"Well, tomorrow then, Harry?" she questioned, smiling an orangey-pink lipstick smeared smile.   
  
"Er, maybe, I'll see if I can make it," Harry replied quickly, backing out of her door, out onto the walkway, and on down the streets. Mrs. Figg cried a good-bye after him, and finally her front door was shut with a resounding thud.   
  
Lucius sat lazily at the dinner table, gazing out across the dining room, his silver eyes blank. "Wine, dear?" Narcissa asked softly, her voice empty, as usual.  
  
Lucius' eyes narrow, remembering the events of earlier that day. No, he would certainly not have wine. He'd had enough wine for today, thank you. "Water."  
  
"Of course," Narcissa replied. She sat down at the table, thrusting the gleaming white gold goblet at her husband. He gazed up at her. Narcissa was beautiful. There was no other way to describe it. She was 38, yet she hardly looked a day over 25. Her long, flaxen fell down her back in a brilliant casade, and her ice blue eyes were, yes, vacant, dull and had a look of eternal boredom about them, but people overlooked that. Her high cheeks were a delicate shade of pink, her lips full, and her nose had a sort of aristocratic upward tilt to it.   
  
Lucius said nothing, as usual at the dinner table. Because he didn't love her. He didn't love anyone, really. Did Narcissa please him? Yes. Did he find her enjoyable? Yes. Did he appreciate her? Yes. But did he love her?  
  
No.   
  
"Draco's staying with his friend, Pansy, until school starts, so I went ahead and got his school stuff with him today," Narcissa stated boredly, more to the wall than to her husband. They both knew Lucius couldn't have cared less.  
  
"Fine," was all Lucius had to say on the matter.   
  
"Draco, do you love me?" Pansy asked, leaning forward to stare at the blonde. Her pug-face was repulsive, but Draco had to admit, her body wasn't bad. Draco let his gaze wash over her, all of her. No, not at all bad.   
  
Draco averted her gaze and stared out over the horizon. The Parkinson manor was a well-kept place, and she and he were sitting out in the gazebo in her yard, watching the sun set. It would have been perfect, had he been with anyone else but her. Preferably the one he loved..  
  
"Draco!" Pansy cried, tugging on his arm.   
  
"What?" he asked, trying to look as if he hadn't heard her.  
  
"Do you love me?" she repeated, batting her eyelashes.   
  
"Yeah, 'course I do," Draco replied half-heartedly, glancing out again over the horizon. The sun had all melted away but one teeny sliver.   
  
"Then show me," Pansy ordered, grabbing Draco's chin, forcing him to pay attention to her. "Show me, Draco."   
  
Author's Note: This is just random crap...at what happens to be happening...like over the summer or whatever. Yeah, I guess a plot will start to form next chapter..whatever. 


	2. The Object of Love

Author's Note: Hope you enjoy it.   
  
Chapter Two:   
  
"Hermione...I..." Ron began. He grabbed one of Hermione's hands in two of his. He paused, not sure of what to say. Damn! What would impress her?!   
  
Hermione, as usual, seemed to understand what Ron meant. "Ron," she whispered, but she didn't finish her statement. All she could do was stare into his big green eyes and think, 'My Ronald. My Ronald Weasley.' She was so happy to have him, so glad that she finally had someone to love her, to care about her, as she had always cared about him.  
  
This rather made Harry the third wheel, didn't it? Of course the position of their best friend mattered not to them at the time,as their lips met together in a sort of sweet connection.  
  
The sort of sweet connection Hermione had longed to feel since...well...how long had it been? All she knew was that she had finally, finally retrieved what she had wanted for a very long time.  
  
But not that anything would change between them outwardly. Ron would still annoy her, ask her to copy his homework. Hermione would roll her eyes, pretend that it aggravated her. They would hide their loving looks at each other, and they'd hold hands, but only under the desk or under the table, away from Harry or anyone else. It would be there little secret.   
  
Severus Snape swept, or limped, rather, into Number 12, Grimmauld Place, his black robes, for once, not billowing behind him. Blood dripped from his lower lip. A deep navy welt had blossomed underneath his right eye. His left arm clutched his right and a soft moan escaped his lips as he fell to the ground with a light thud.   
  
"Severus!" Molly Weasley cried. She had been conversing in the hall with Lupin about something or other when Severus had limped in.  
  
"I'm u-useless..." Severus wheezed, trying very hard to get up but collaspsing in Mrs. Weasley's outstretched arms. "H-he knows, he knows all about what I-I've been doing..."  
  
Severus grimaced, annoyed with himself for looking so pathetic in front of one of his enemies, Lupin, but it couldn't be helped. "Molly...he knows..."   
  
Pansy pushed Draco on her bed, which had a bright pink mosquito net around it, an ugly, hot pink, plush bed spread and pillows to match it. It was hard to look at, really, sort of like the girl herself. Ones eyes tended to burn if they gazed at it for too long.   
  
"Draco..." Pansy declared in a sing-song way, her version of a sultry, seductive voice. She rolled over on her back. "Draco..."  
  
Draco was seriously fucking sick of hearing his name by now. Draco...Draco...Draco...Draco, do you love me? Draco, do I matter to you at all? Draco, will we be together forever?  
  
Dream on, sweetie, because he's got his eyes set on someone else...  
  
"Draco!" Pansy screamed. She sat up. She had ripped her shirt off in an attempt to avert Draco's attention to her, however, he was still found gazing off into space.  
  
Like I said, it was a lost cause.  
  
"P-Pansy?" Draco stuttered, eyes falling automatically to her chest.   
  
"I can't believe you!" Pansy cried. Still shirtless, she grabbed Draco by the forearm and forced his mouth to hers. She pushed him to the ground, feeding him kisses that were almost...angry. Angry, and forceful. She dug her sharp, claw-like fingernails into his neck, shoving her tounge down Draco's throat all the while.   
  
Draco finally decided to let her. Let Pansy have her way with him. Let Pansy finally feed this fucking hunger so she could leave him alone. He would just pretend it was ...her.   
  
Pretend it was her, to make it bareable.   
  
Oh, who the fuck was he trying to kid anyway? Pretending it was her would make it pure bliss.   
  
So Draco relented, maybe even got into it a bit, tounge swinging wildly in Pansy's mouth, running his fingers through her dark hair...  
  
"Pinnie heard Miss Pansy screaming, sir," came a female house-elf's voice down the hall.   
  
Pansy pulled away from Draco immediately, her normally glittering, malicious eyes now wide and fearful. "Oh, shit."   
  
Draco stood up immediately, knocking Pansy off his chest. The door flew open.  
  
Come on Pansy, really. Haven't you the sense to close your door when going to snog?   
  
Pansy's mother, a pugfaced woman, just like her daughter, let out a little scream and clasped her hands over her mouth. Her father, a tall, scary looking man just glared at Draco.   
  
"Daddy!" Pansy squealed, "Mum!" She gasped, and slapped her hands over her bare chest.  
  
Draco had never felt more awkward in his entire life. Really. But no one had to know that. Draco was smooth, sexy,...never awkward. Like his father. Like his father. Psh, right.   
  
Draco shook his head to clear it of confusion. What to do, what to do? Of course, Mortimer Parkinson, Pansy's father was accquainted with Lucius. And of course, this "lewd" act would no doubt be reported to him. Damn, damn, damn. No, damn just didn't do it. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.   
  
Draco winced, picturing his dad after hearing the news. "Ruining the family name!" he would bellow, and then he would shout random profanities at Draco, and finally, come dangerously close to hexing him.   
  
So obviously, Draco couldn't return home. Mortimer Parkinson entered the room, robes swishing behind him almost menacingly. He advanced on Pansy, who by now had found her shirt and pulled it on. Draco glanced around madly. There was a space where Mortimer had stood, next to Pansy's mother. He could make a run for it. He could grab a bit of floo powder, and go wherever he wished.  
  
Yes. Draco raced for the door, dashing across Pansy's bed, and he was out the door before Pansy's parents could do anything about it. He rushed towards his guest room, snatching his trunk while doing so. He scurried down the long, winding staircase, and finally to the main fireplace.  
  
DAMN IT! Where was the floo powder?! His frantic gaze finally rested on the mantle, where a large clay jar sat, labeled in a swirly script, "Floo Powder."  
  
His heart ramming painfully against his chest, he grabbed a fist full of it, and threw his trunk into the fireplace, and finally stepped in himself.  
  
"THE LEAKY CAULDRON!" 


	3. A Little Desolate

Author's Note: This chapter was kinda short, but you'll get over it. Draco's mystery woman is revealed! And no, it's not Hermione! Also, slight drama-queening on Harry's part. Oh well. Flogging Molly rocks.   
  
Chapter Three:  
  
Harry stormed out of Number Four, Privet Drive, fuming with anger. He'd been angry all morning. Not one letter from Ron, nor Hermione, nor Lupin, nor anyone else at that hell Grimmauld place that he thought gave a damn about him. It was just like last summer. He got letters telling him to practice occlumency, not let the muggles get to him, keep his chin up, and not to worry, he'd be coming to headquarters soon. Harry knew it was just because the letter may fall into the wrong hands, but it still irked him. Badly.  
  
Harry stalked down the road, the sun beating down on him annoyingly. His anger started to fade away as he remembered Hermione and Ron's sad, and scared faces the last summer when he'd blown up at them. He'd felt pretty bad afterwards, and didn't want to feel that again. He hated being the one against them two. He found it was like that more and more often nowadays, he against them.   
  
It was because they didn't know what it was like, seeing what Voldemort sees. It was because they were for the most part, normal, average wizards, and he most certainly wasn't. It was because they didn't have a bold, ugly lightning bolt scar on their foreheads to show the world what Voldemort had stolen from him.   
  
Harry threw himself on a swing, almost unaware that he had walked straight to the park. He stared bitterly at the hot soil beneath his feet, wishing he could melt into and just loose all the worry he had in this world. He really hated Harry Potter right now.   
  
Draco wandered about Diagon Alley. He was surprised he'd recieved no mail from his father yet. Actually, now that Draco thought about it, his father was probably ignoring the fact that he excisted. His father probably hoped he had died. Probably, as far as Lucius was concerned, Draco didn't excist. He was a disgrace to the family.  
  
Oh, and this was coming from a guy who'd lapped up wine like a fucking dog to save his own, rather handsome neck. Disgrace indeed.  
  
"Draco?" Draco whirled around. There she was. HER. Oh, she was beautiful on that day. Not that she wasn't always gorgeous. As she watched Draco with her sparkling moss-green eyes, Draco was sure he heard angels singing somewhere.  
  
Jeez, how corny. But that's what love does to even the most cold-hearted boys. Not that I'm calling Draco cold-hearted, or anything. That's so obviously just a mask. He's not as robotic as his father.   
  
Her long, dark, wavy hair was pulled into a careless bun on top of her head, and she wore liberal amounts of eyeliner and lipgloss. She wore a white sweater and, Draco noted, rather tight jeans with sneakers.   
  
"B-Blaise!" Draco stuttered, "How's your s-summer been?" Yeah, Draco, the big stud at Hogwarts was actually nervous around a girl. Snicker.  
  
Blaise Zaibini raised her long, elegant neck and smiled. "It's been fun. I heard you went to Pansy's."  
  
Draco didn't bother to repress a look of disgust at Pansy's name. It was true, but nobody liked Pansy. She was annoying. Got in the way. You couldn't tell her anything without the whole damn school knowing. But why did the Slytherins put up with her? Because she was rich, came from a well-to-do family, just like all of the them. She was a pureblood, and detested losing, Gryffindors, and Dumbledore, just like all of the Slytherins. They had to face it: She was one of them.   
  
Blaise continued smiling calmly, beautifully, "I heard it was pretty bad."   
  
Fuck, gossip traveled fast. Draco nodded, "That's why I'm here." It was also no secret how angry Lucius tended to get. Of course Draco couldn't go back home. Blaise felt slightly drawn to him because of this. Her father, Gavin Zaibini, was very strict. But bearable, of course.   
  
Every girl loves a boy who has suffered...right?   
  
"Wanna go get ice cream?" Blaise asked, "I've finished all my shopping, and my dad's got all my stuff at the Leaky Cauldron. We're staying there."   
  
"I am too!" Draco exclaimed, realizing how shit-eating he had sounded. Just then. Dammit!  
  
Blaise smiled that perfect, calm smile again. "That's good." Nothing seemed to faze her. She grabbed his hand (oh, how soft her skin was!) and gently pulled him across the street to the ice cream parlor.   
  
Draco saw Neville Longbottom, being hustled along by his grandmother in the crowds rushing up and down the busy streets of Diagon Alley, and Draco managed to give him his signature sneer. Draco was, after all, a Slytherin. He wasn't a fucking Hufflepuff with his head in the clouds. He was Draco Malfoy. He had a reputation to keep up.  
  
Author's Note: You guys know Blaise Zaibini, right? She was a Slythern in the first book, she was sorted with Harry and crew. I don't know if she's a girl or a boy, but there has to be more than Pansy and Milicent in Slytherin, so I made her a girl. 


	4. Wandering Minds

Author's Note: short, but I'm tired. It's 4:20 (yes, all you stoners, 4:20) in the AM and I'm tired as hell. This is a pretty crappy chapter. Get over it.   
  
Chapter Four:   
  
"DISGRACE!" Lucius shrieked, ripping the yellowed parchment in his hands to shreds onto the coffee table, "HE'S TAINTED THE MALFOY NAME WITH HIS LEWD ACTS! HE'S RUINED US!"  
  
"Lucius!" Narcissa hissed. She was going to attempt to stick up for her son. He was all she had. Her reason for living, if you will. "Remember how we were once?"  
  
Narcissa looked away after she had said this statement. She and Lucius both knew it: she wasn't just referring how'd they gotten to second base at 16. It was a general statement: Remember how we were once? Young, innocent, carefree...supposedly in love? Not just trophies for one another to brandish proudly at colleagues?  
  
Lucius shot her a menacing glare and collapsed at his special, head-of-the-table seat in the dining room. "I'm absolutely ashamed. He isn't worthy of bearing the name Malfoy." He glared out at the dark night, where stars sparkled their own trepidation for the situation. "He isn't worthy at all."  
  
Ron sat in the parlor at Grimmauld Place, watching the fire crackle warmly in the fireplace. He felt himself nodding off, but then he would force himself back to attention. He was going to stay up until Harry got here. He would!   
  
He glanced about the room. Hermione had buried herself behind Hogwarts, A History, as was quite usual. Hermione was obviously no different tonight. Ron felt the edges of his lips curve upwards. He'd like to keep it like that, thank you very much.  
  
Ginny lay curled up in her chair, asleep. Fred, George, Bill and Charlie sat on the floor, discussing something. Ron didn't really care to listen. He let his gaze rest on Hermione again. There was a sound of the door opening and shutting.   
  
"Harry's here!" Ron cried joyfully. He jumped out of the chair and scurried down the hall. Harry stood there, clutching his trunk in one hand, his broom in the other, looking gleeful. His hair stuck up in all directions, looking more unruly than ever. Hermione raced down the hall and straight into Harry's arms. Ron watched a bit jealously. But then it hit him: Hermione was his, all his. Completely, utterly his. She'd told him so herself.  
  
Harry grinned. He was so glad to be home, so, so glad.  
  
Draco smiled softly to himself. He'd spent the whole day with Blaise. His adorable, wonderful, perfect Blaise. He'd eaten ice cream with her, and then they'd just gone shopping, though neither had actually bought anything. All he could think about was how she'd held her poise, even when the dumbass waiter spilt chocolate ice cream all over her, how she'd just smiled calmly.   
  
Someone very mean and critical (coughpansycough) would say the girl was on pot or something, the way she always smiled calmly in the face of possible problems. But her eyes were too glittery, too clear to be anywhere closed to glazed.  
  
He couldn't stop thinking about how she was quite possibly the only girl in the whole fucking world who looked THAT amazing with all of that chocolate on her sweater. How she seemed so aware, yet so oblivious to the fact that she was the most beautiful girl, well, anywhere that she went.   
  
Even with vast amounds of chocolate smeared all over her sweater.   
  
Yes.   
  
Draco still hadn't kissed her yet, but that would come eventually. He could wait as long as he needed to.   
  
I smell a stalker.  
  
Severus sat up in his bed, annoyed. A stupid door slamming had awaken him. He had a black eye, a blood lip and a broken arm. How hurt did one have to get before they were rewarded total silence?  
  
Probably that foul Potter. Severus rolled his eyes and rolled over in his bed. Always getting attention that one, simply for breaking the rules. Just like his prat father. Severus shuddered at the very though of him. Pretentious asshole. Arrogant bastard. Cocky...what was another way to describe him? Cocky what? Cocky git. Yes. That would have to do until Severus though of something better.  
  
Severus grinned at this detrimental thought, closing his eyes. Until more obnoxious children thumped down the hall, sounding rather like a large herd of elephants than a small group of children. Severus groaned audibly, pulling the covers over his head. He would have to resort to counting sheep tonight. He'd heard it from some muggle. Counting sheep...how that would get one to sleep, he wasn't sure. But he'd give it a try...  
  
Pansy lay in her bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. Wow, her life was ruined. Absolutely. Her parents thought she was a slut, Draco was probably mad at her, or at least at her parents, and all the Slytherins were probably gossiping about what a whore she was at this very moment.  
  
Draco probably missed her. Was probably counting the days until he could taste her sweet tounge again.  
  
Ew, disgusting.  
  
Draco probably was wishing he'd have stayed and faced her parents, like well, a man. Even Pansy couldn't deny it, Draco had been an absoulte wuss in that situation.   
  
And now he was paying for it, because now he wouldn't be able to spend time with his beloved Pansy.  
  
I'll bet he's real crestfallen. I'll bet he's completely miserable.  
  
Yeah, right.   
  
Author's Note: I'm going to bed. 


	5. The Wolf & The Nymph and the Guy Outside

Author's Note: I made up Arden Chastain. woohoo. he doesn't really have a point, but yeah don't take him, I guess if you really wanted to, sucks for you. great.   
  
Chapter Five:   
  
Blaise lay on her bed, watching the morning's early rays drift in through the window. Draco had been so wonderful the day before, opening doors for her, pulling back her chair for her...it was so incredible.   
  
But then, how come he was such a jerk at school?   
  
It was a good thing to ponder. Blaise wondered to herself whether or not Draco would continue being a major bastard once September 1st rolled around. If that was so, Blaise guessed she would once again continue her crush on Arden Chastain, that gorgeous 7th year Ravenclaw beater.   
  
Mmm...Arden.  
  
Of course, Draco's pale blonde hair and ice gray eyes rivaled Arden's light brown hair and warm amber eyes...the both of them were pretty foxy, Blaise admitted.   
  
And it would be a huge slap in Pansy's face if she went out with Draco. Sneer.   
  
Severus sat up in bed. Fuck, his arm still hurt. But he had broken it, so he figured it would. He'd also sprained his ankle, had a black eye, and also a cut lip. Goody. He pulled himself out of bed and limped down the stairs, feeling rather undignified indeed.   
  
Not just undignified. Bloody ridiculous.   
  
He staggered up toward the kitchen door. It was shut, and he heard voices from inside. Lupin's calm, dignified voice was heard, and also, a jovial, spunky sort of voice. Tonks.  
  
Snape smashed his ear up to the door, anxious to know what they were talking about. Sure, it was none of his business. So what?   
  
Remus gazed out of the window sadly. Sunlight drifted in slowly, but he felt as if his inner most being was completely dark. Sirius Black. His best friend in the universe besides James had died. Was gone. Forever. He and Peter Pettigrew were the only Marauders left.  
  
Peter Pettigrew. Peter fucking Pettigrew. Filth like that didn't even deserve a name.   
  
"Remus? You okay, mate?" Tonks questioned, beaming at him over her cup of tea.   
  
Remus glanced at her sadly for a moment, her blue eyes bright and shining, her hair now falling down her shoulders in a light brown cascade.   
  
"I don't know," he replied. He let his gaze fall to the scrubbed wooden table, allowing his eyes to fill with tears. He shuddered unvoluntarily as a tear slid down his face.   
  
"Remus..." Tonks began, lowering her tone a bit, abandoning her tea cup. She walked around the table and sat next to Remus, who was now crying so hard he was shaking.   
  
Tonks sat down next to him, grabbing his hand gently in hers. "Remus," she repeated.  
  
Remus looked up and stared at her, tears sliding down either side of his face. He trembled.   
  
Tonks smiled softly at him, surveying him slowly. "He was amazing, wasn't he?"   
  
Remus nodded, his silent crying now full fledged weeping. "I-I-I'll never f-f-f-forget what we d-did as k-kids...it w-was s-s-so m-m-much f-f-funnn..." he stuttered between sobs.   
  
Tonks grinned, leaning back in her chair. "I'll bet it was. Sounds to me like you guys had some wild times at Hogwarts," she stated admirably. It was funny to her to picture Remus actually breaking rules.   
  
Remus smiled a watery smile, clearly reminscing. "Y'know," Tonks continued, "I think Sirius would rather us remember him in those times. I think that's when he was alive, when he was around James. I mean, I didn't know him back then, but you could see it on his face whenever he mentioned James. He loved the guy like a brother."  
  
"All three of us were like brothers," Remus replied, smiling wearily, "Peter (he said the name like it was some sort of rare deadly mold) tried to join in, of course, but he never really did..."   
  
"Thank goodness to that, bloody traitor!" Tonks proclaimed loudly.   
  
Remus smiled. Tonks set her chair back down properly and grinned at him. "Sirius was great," she finished.  
  
"I'll miss him," Remus replied staring at the ceiling.   
  
Tonks smiled, "If you ever need help, you know, coping or whatever..." she began.  
  
Remus focused his gaze back onto Tonks, his warm brown eyes sparkling. "I'll be right here," Tonks told him brightly.  
  
"Thanks...it means a lot," Remus replied, smiling. Before he could think about it, he had wrapped Tonks into a hug and kissed her forehead. She giggled, and then looked at her watch.  
  
"Blood hell!" she exclaimed, "I'm going to be late for work!" She quickly (but probably not willingly) broke out of the embrace and waved good-bye, "See you later, Remus! Cheer up, mate!", and raced out.  
  
Thus running into Snape. "What're you doing out here?" She asked, suspiciously.   
  
"I was about to come and get some tea," Snape replied, sneering and hobbling in, feeling once again, idiotic as he did so.   
  
Severus ignored Remus as he approached the tea kettle and started making tea. Was it just him, or did it seem like everyone was hooking up around here?! First Ron and Hermione (everyone saw this one coming, even Severus), and now Tonks and Lupin! What was next? Minerva and Mad-Eye? Severus shuddered. Hopefully not.   
  
Author's Note: awww...RLNT...one of my favorites. 


End file.
